Immortal
by nivlac
Summary: Nosferatu Zodd. One of the strongest warriors of all time, awakes on a different realm... this one with new and different foes to fight.


**I've wanted to do this crossover for a while now, and I finally did it. The first chapter is short, because it is the prologue, I hope you enjoy. Also, I looked this up, but it just doesn't sound right to me, is Cyrodiil how you spell it? That's what the wiki page says. But I could have sworn it was Cyrodil…**

Zodd the Immortal awoke, his blood red eyes finding a clear blue sky. He felt soft grass beneath him rubbing against his back, and he sat up from prone position, and observed his environment. A warm breeze caressed his skin, and he was surrounded by a lush green forest. Tall brown tree's surrounded him, some of their leaves getting rustled in the light breeze. He stood up to his full height, and furrowed his brow.

How did he get here?

Was he so blood lusted from his last battle that he lost track of where he ended up? No… that couldn't be. There was nary a single body anywhere around him. Zodd looked down at his mostly bare body, the only thing that kept him from being classified as naked being his brown fur loincloth. There wasn't even a single stain of blood on him.

He remembered battling Guts on the hill of swords, and flying off with Griffith atop his back. There was a huge hole in his memories about what came after however. He could not remember for the life of him what had happened after his fight with the Black Swordsman. Perhaps Femto had cast him away? Had Zodd done something to infuriate the newest member of the God Hand?

If he had, he couldn't remember what it was. Zodd knew that if Femto wanted Zodd to be of service to him, then the demon lord would seek him out. Until then, he would go about seeking more foes to fight. If he was lucky, he would soon be back under the White Hawks wing, but until then, Zodd would just do what he would do best.

He had to bide his time until Griffith reappeared to him, which meant that he was going back to the battlefield. Zodd had mixed feelings about the whole situation, he wished to serve under Femto of course, but the thought of returning to the countless battles appealed to him immensely. Hopefully the denizens of this place were stronger than the ones he was used too. Assuming this was, of course, not Midland.

It seemed like it was time to go back at it.

There was one problem however that he needed to take care of immediately…

…

…

…

Thracius looked at the massive blade which stuck out of the ground. Who could honestly wield such a massive blade in battle? Even an Orc would be hard pressed to wield such a massive weapon. It was far longer and broader than any other of his fellow soldiers from the Aldmeri Dominion. His golden skin paled slightly at the thought of what kind of person… nay, monster that had the strength to wield it effectively.

Was this a scare tactic by the Imperials? Thracius had no idea, but his men seemed pretty terrified of the massive weapon. The blue sky held nary a single cloud, allowing the sun to shine off of their gold colored elven armor. The many grooves etched into his own set was stained with the blood of the last encounter his troops had had with empire soldiers, as were they.

It was a pitiful ambush, thirty men against one hundred high elves? How dare they presume that they could win? The lesser races were stupid, he knew that much, but Thracius didn't think they were THAT stupid. His gold colored eyes widened by a considerable margin when he saw a monster of a man walk out from the forest.

An ocean of muscle covered his mostly naked body. Orcish fangs jutted out from his jaw, and he had a cat-like nose. His spiky black hair and his blood red eyes alone were enough to make some of his men take a step back out of fear. The beast had to be at least eight or even nine feet tall, towering over all of his men.

His fanged mouth smirked when he saw the blade sticking straight out of the ground. Could it be that the sword belonged to him? He approached the massive blade, and grabbed its hilt with his right hand, pulling it out of the ground with little effort. He heard his men draw iron behind him, and Thracius did the same.

He looked Thracius straight in the eyes, and the high elf officer could feel himself quivering. What kind of race was he? The only species that the elf could imagine him belonging to would have to be the Orsimer, but he was far larger than any of them, and his skin was not green, it was tan. He swung his massive blade at a nearby tree, cutting it perfectly in half. The massive tree fell over, landing on one of his soldiers, crushing him flat.

He looked over to the crushed trooper, seeing blood leak out from beneath the log, soaking the earth. His bones stuck out in all directions, and his organs were of no doubt reduced to pudding from the fall. Everyone was stuck paying attention to his appearance… they didn't look to see where the tree was going to land.

Thracius gritted his teeth, and pointed his sleek elven blade at the beast.

"Let him feel the wrath of the Aldmeri Dominion!" He yelled.

The men stirred to action, and charged forward to face the monster.

…

Zodd ducked under a hail of arrows and charged forward slashing horizontally. He separated several of the golden skinned men from their midsections. His blade cleaved through their armor like a knife through butter. Nosferatu supposed that them being the color of butter made that simile more apparent to him.

He slashed again, and again, sending more body parts and gore flying across his opponents. He ducked dodged, and blocked any attack that may have made it past his guard, retaliating with another attack. The golden soldiers all had a look of fear in their eyes whilst fighting him, that look was all too familiar to the apostle.

Zodd knew that these were no ordinary men, which begged the question… where was he? He decided to leave at least one of his opponents alive. Nosferatu had to find out somehow.

Zodd looked ahead and saw many men in black gold rimmed cloaks with lighting arcing between their hands. The apostle's eyes narrowed in question. These were most definitely not the average soldier. After slicing through a few more men, electricity shot out from the hands of those hooded men.

Zodd quickly impaled one enemy through the midsection with his sword, holding him up to block the strikes. The bolts struck his meat shield, who vomited up blood onto Zodd's sword and hand. Nosferatu dodged backwards from a few more of the foot soldiers attacks, and spun, throwing the soldier off of his blade and towards the magic men.

The body knocked one of them down to the ground, and he could see a few of the other mages vomit. Another one of the troops seemed to hang back from the others, hiding behind the cloaked men. His armor shone a far brighter gold than the others. It was etched differently as well, and offered full body protection.

That must have been the commander of these soldiers.

They began to circle around Zodd, backing away and reforming around him. Thirty men lay dead around his feet, the mangled corpses all covered in fresh crimson. The green grass was now spotted red, and organs were splayed out all around. He glared at the enemy commander, and swung his blade, the blood all flying off of the metal of his sword.

"Are none of you strong enough to give me even an inkling of a challenge?" Zodd asked.

None of the soldier's responded, nervous sweat pouring down the sides of their faces. Zodd scowled. If none of them even had the confidence to step forward, then there was no challenge to be found here.

"Then there is no reason to waste my time on you fodder." He said.

He swung his blade in an arc, splitting more bodies and severing more and more heads. He continued swinging until nothing swung at him back. The forest was painted red, and ninety nine soldiers lay dead at his feet, their screams echoed throughout the woods. All had fallen, save for the officer he had spared.

The man cast a bolt of fire at Zodd, who dissipated it by merely swinging the flat of his blade at it. Zodd charged forward, feeling his massive left hand clasp around the commander's thin neck. Nosferatu held him aloft, and brought him close to his face.

"Who are you?" Zodd asked calmly.

"T-Thracius!" He choked out.

Zodd glared into Thracius's yellow irises, the man quivering with fear in his grasp.

"Where am I?" Zodd asked.

"Y-you are in Cyridiil!"

Cyridiil? He had never heard of that place in his life.

"Where is Midland?" Zodd asked him.

"What's Midland?" He asked, straining against his grasp.

Zodd frowned.

"I see." Zodd said.

Zodd applied a bit of pressure to his hand, crushing Thracius's neck with little effort. His arms went limp at his sides, and Zodd dropped him to the ground. This situation just got a whole lot more complicated. If he hadn't heard of Midland, then he was either really far from home, or…

No. That was impossible.

This was his world, it had to be. He had simply asked the wrong person. Zodd looked down at Thracius's crushed neck. Perhaps he was too hasty with killing him. He still had a few more questions that he needed to ask. He supposed there would be others that he could interrogate.

Zodd walked away from the battlefield, looking back at the pile of corpses. He stood there for a moment, and then a thought crossed his mind.

He could be here for a while…

 **There it is. I'd promised I would do it, and I did. Leave a review, or I may send the almighty Rape Horse after you.**


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